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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768467">i; Light and Shadow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur'>Theo_Thaur</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of TUA Whump [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allison turned out to be the most innocent party here, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Edited at 2 am, First Fic!, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I just wanted Luther to have someone to angst over, I spent too much time writing this one, Klaus was the only other one mentioned, Luther Hargreeves-centric, Minor Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, One Shot, This series may or may not be completed, Vanya is kind a villain in this, Whump, Whumptober 2020, because I'm obsessed with Klaus, but blink and you ignore it, everyone that makes fun of Luther is punching the air rn, make of Pogo and Luther's involvement in de-stabilizing Vanya what you will, so Luther is protective of Allison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:29:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whumptober 2020 submission. "No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME": Waking Up Restrained<br/>------<br/>An alternate universe in which a bleeding marker and the brief absence of Pogo leaves the fate of the 2019 timeline unsure. </p>
<p>(AU: Pogo never explains to Luther that Vanya's powers caused Allison's loss of voice and will cause the apocalypse. Vanya comes to the academy looking to make amends, but in this AU Luther tries to listen.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allison Hargreeves &amp; Luther Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves &amp; Vanya Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of TUA Whump [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i; Light and Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TRIGGERS: Defeatist attitude, family trauma, self-depreciating thoughts, claustrophobia, self-harm, mentions of nausea/vomit, blood, faint-headedness, anxiety, being restricted against one's will, betrayal (sort of), gore (fairly mild), choking, mentions of drug use, grief (over Allison, who doesn't actually die, but Luther is afraid she will for a period of time), not an explicitly happy ending, body insecurity, mentions of arson.</p>
<p>Note: this is my first time publishing here, if something is tagged incorrectly please let me know. Feedback is welcome!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>i; Light and Shadow</em>
</p>
<p>      If Allison had died, Luther didn't know what he would've done with himself. After the sober drive --even Klaus hadn't said a <em> word </em> and much more had scarcely been spoken--, he'd been the first one to the door of Leonard Peabody's house, barrelling in without any remorse. Luther remembered the next part in flashes. Klaus' hand just barely there on his shoulder, the way Allison's eyes fluttered --no, <em> twitched </em>--, when Luther tried to hold her in his arms, dark red blood painting her up to her jawline. Where had once been the delicate lines of a décolletage, sat pools of dark red, concealing her, hiding her away. She'd always looked pretty in red, not that he had a sense for fashion. Luther had seen her recently, before the funeral --diamonds around her neck, a red velvet dress that hugged her and pooled on the floor as he walked in front of the press. She'd had such a sure look on her face. Luther hadn't known how to hold her then, to keep her neck from gushing any further. Each bump on the rural stretch of gravel that laid between them and the academy had made Luther nearly cry in the backseat, for fear of Allison's death. Memories came to him in more clarity than reality could, maybe it was his mind trying to box himself off from what was in front of him. He'd already a hundred times wondered if her body was getting any colder as he tried to balance her in a car that felt too small to hold her last moments on earth. He didn't need to stare any longer at the way blood dyed blonde-tinted tips strawberry and wonder if that was the last thing Allison would try with her hair. </p>
<p>      He'd always been amazed at the styles she'd done, having figured out little more than a braid himself. Luther remembered the way Allison would occasionally card her hands through Vanya's hair when they'd been kids, in their brief moments of free time. She'd always been careful not to tug too hard, but twisted and pulled and braided and pinned. The days following, Vanya had always done her best not to ruin it, checking herself in the mirror more than usual, or touching it gently during studies to ensure what Allison had done was still intact. Luther's mind drifted to how Allison had always sung --sometimes with Klaus joining in--, on the way back from missions, just to ease the tension of what they'd been through together. Reginald wasn't usually the one to drive them home, too busy in his office. Because Pogo would've been a distraction for everyone else on the road, and maybe too short for the pedals, Grace had usually taken them home. She'd joined in too, learning the songs immediately and taking perfect harmony. Luther had still always liked Allison's voice a little better, even when it shook or struggled with a note not quite in her range. </p>
<p>      The only time she hadn't sung was after they'd been brought to a burning building, a convenience store near the edge of the city, targeted by an arsonist. Luther, although somewhat impervious to fire, hadn't been much more useful than the others. They'd been too late for that, having meant to stop the arsonist before they made that strike. Reginald had only brought them to the scene to show them the consequences of not working fast enough. The store workers and the family had gotten out in time,  Allison had comforted the youngest of that family, not more than a few years younger than she'd been. Allison had gently coaxed the half-melted popsicle stick from their tight grasp, quelling the child's tears. She'd leant in to whisper something, Luther hadn't heard it, but he could guess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I heard a rumour, you felt safe.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>      Her expression had been twisted up when she'd blinked and pulled away slightly from the kid. That was when they'd heard the wail of sirens, a shadowy figure slipped out from behind the convenience store soon thereafter. Allison noticed them first, rising to her feet, rage in her eyes. The figure, once an arsonist, had been about to devolve into a murderer, trying to flee the scene without witnesses. They'd raised a gun, but Diego had thrown a knife before they could shoot Allison. The drive home had been quiet. Luther blamed himself for not being there to absorb the bullet, for not being quick enough, <em> good </em>enough. She'd always felt like his responsibility to protect. All of them were. He'd been so relieved she was unscathed, but knew he needed to do better next time. It had been too close.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>      So Grace had started singing instead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "A dream is a wish your heart makes, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> When you’re fast asleep, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In dreams you lose your heartaches, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Whatever you wish for, you keep…" </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>      They'd been too old for lullabies by then, right? But nobody had protested.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------*´｡*ﾟ</p>
<p> </p>
<p>      Luther couldn't repeat what Grace had told them was wrong with Allison, he hadn't been listening to the name of her injury. Allison was going to be okay. That was what had stuck with him, that and only that. He'd sat by her for a long time, there'd at one point been something she'd wanted to tell him, but Luther hadn't understood. Allison had been scrawling away, ripping pages off and handing them over, and beginning on a new page just as soon as he'd taken it. Luther had read those pages aloud when she'd finally finished, or rather he'd <em> tried. </em> The felt-tipped marker she'd used to scribble on yellow pads of paper bled too much for an in depth explanation. The letters were hard to tell apart, and the ink sunk through the thin paper, into the next page. Luther hadn't wanted her to get too worked up clearing the misunderstandings, anyways. Allison needed to heal. He'd taken the pad of paper and the marker away gently, setting them both on the floor. It could wait. Allison protested, trying to speak, but Luther shushed her quietly, holding her hand in his just as he had when she'd slept. He didn't want her to be in pain, and eventually, Allison had slipped under again, the crease in her brow softening. Luther settled her hand back down to her side, smiling lightly until he saw how big his hand, calloused and hard, looked next to hers, manicured and film-ready. He stood, deciding to clear his head, but knowing he'd be back again before she woke.</p>
<p>      Luther had taken a short walk around the house, coming into contact with Vanya as he came back into the foyer. He hadn't seen her in what felt like forever, but it was good to know she'd finally come home again. She was always welcome to, and seeing Peabody's mutilated corpse where Vanya had been staying was cause for some worry, if admittedly, worry that hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. Luther felt guilty that he hadn't been as focused on finding Vanya, making sure she was still okay, but Allison had been in bad condition. Vanya would understand, wouldn't she? Luther took a step closer.</p>
<p>      "Is Allison…?" Her voice was strained.</p>
<p>      "She survived," Luther answered, grinning victoriously. It was good news, he felt special for getting to share it with Vanya, even though he adamantly believed it was Allison's strength that had caused her to keep going. He just wished Vanya would stop looking so lost in the academy. Vanya sighed quietly, relieved, but still looking like a kicked puppy. </p>
<p>      "Hey. It's all okay. You did what you had to, to survive," Luther said, putting his whole heart into those words. He meant it, and yet, was a hypocrite. Luther would die for Allison, coming within an inch of watching her die had only made that more obvious. His attempt at comfort did nothing to ease Vanya. </p>
<p>      "...What do you think happened, in the cabin?" She asked finally. Luther shrugged --what was with the riddle?</p>
<p>      "We figured one of Leonard's buddies in prison came back for him," he replied honestly. Vanya cringed at the name, nodding slowly, looking away. He didn't know what she was trying to work out. In that moment, the noise of a throat loudly clearing caught their attention in the echo-y hallway. Luther turned. It was Pogo. He stood in the threshold, clutching yellow papers, spectacles balanced on the top of his nose. Pogo looked… concerned? Yes. Concerned.</p>
<p>      "Miss Vanya… you're here." Well, yeah, she was. Luther looked between the two of them. Pogo sounded like he was dreading something.</p>
<p>      "Pogo, I--" she was cut off.</p>
<p>      "Pardon, but there is more I would like to say, if you would allow," Pogo didn't wait for an answer, "is it true, Vanya, that you've finally <em> come off your medication? </em>" Pogo did a funny thing with his voice, putting more emphasis on those last few words. Luther didn't know why.</p>
<p>      "Y-yes, it's true, but--" </p>
<p>      "And did you, or did you not, harm Allison last night in Leonard Peabody's cabin?" Vayna shuddered, harder than last time. She didn't try to speak. "...Vanya Hargreeves?" Pogo prompted, in lieu of an answer. Luther was trying to figure out what Pogo meant. He hadn't seen any injuries on Allison, other than the slit across her throat. Memories of the blood made him feel queasy.</p>
<p>      "I did," she whispered. </p>
<p>      "What, wait?" Luther interjected. Pogo looked to him with pity. "What do you mean?" He demanded, when neither of them started explaining right away. His voice rose slightly. Angrily. </p>
<p>      "...She may or may not know it yet, but she causes the apocalypse," Pogo said apologetically. Pogo had always been one to make his words just slightly too complicated and winding. Vanya's eyes widened, she went pale.</p>
<p>      "You <em> hurt </em> Allison?" Luther interrogated, taking a step closer to her. He could only do so much, however. Vanya stood only to his chest, and he needed to look her in the eyes. "You," he gestured widely in the direction of where Allison slept, "did <em> that </em> to her? Cut her open?"</p>
<p>      "Please, I--" </p>
<p>      "You will always be a part of this house, Num-- <em> Miss Vanya </em>, but I'm afraid you are a danger to the world. We must act immediately." Luther nodded, still trying to wrap his head around it. Between the two of them, he was going to believe Pogo. Pogo had kept Luther's unopened space 'research' unsealed and hidden, but Pogo had never done him too much wrong. Vanya had gone out, and written her book, and now she'd hurt the person he cared for most. Maybe they could try and fix things after, but if the apocalypse wasn't fixed by Leonard's death, then that changed everything.</p>
<p>      "You don't understand! Please, things got out of control, I didn't m--" </p>
<p>      "I'm sure you didn't. But you are unstable right now, surely even you can see that," Pogo returned his attention back to Luther. "There is still time to avert the apocalypse, if she has come here--"</p>
<p>      "Stop interrupting me," Vanya hissed, finally cutting Pogo off herself. "I'm still here, I can hear you just fine! I'm so <em> sick </em> of everyone in this family acting like I'm invisible, like I don't matter!" The house began to shake, plaster and dust beginning to fall down around them. </p>
<p>      Luther tried to console her. "Vanya, just calm d--,"</p>
<p>      "No!" She answered, voice not her own, but higher. Sharper too, like breaking glass. Luther took a step back. She was trembling. "Everyone just, be quiet!" Vanya shrieked, her voice echoing as she did so, but artificially, it ricocheted around the room more than it should, vibrating with all the longevity of a tuning fork. Her hands were in tight fists, tears pricking at her eyes --how long had they been there? A nearby vase --priceless and decorated in blue flowers-- fell, shattering against cool tile. The sounds of the house grew louder, as if the stone pillars around them were being ground against their foundation. Luther was beginning to worry something might cave in, his body tensing as he searched Vanya's face and tried to understand. He couldn't let this happen. Allison shouldn't have to get out of bed to run, not in her condition. </p>
<p>      Luther cupped a hand over Vanya's mouth swiftly, but tried to lean in and embrace her all the same. His grasp was too tight for her to move her mouth, but that wasn't enough. He felt a high-pitched noise run across his ears, almost blindingly invasive in how shocking it was to his senses, and no sooner did a strong burst of <em> something </em>, knock him off balance. Luther had to stumble backwards a few steps reeling clumsily to even stay on his feet. Pogo moved forward, reaching out for Vanya, but he was not as sturdy as Luther, sent slamming backwards. Pogo's head thudded against the banister, out of the corner of his eye Luther watched the tension fall from Pogo's body, like a rag doll. Suddenly, Luther couldn't move. It was like he was mummified in invisible wrappings, biceps drawn tightly to his sides. Everything around him had gone cold, even through the heavy layers he used to conceal himself. And when Luther tried to breathe, it didn't come immediately. It was an effort just to force his lungs open and closed, an effort that would mount ruthlessly the longer he had to keep up with it. His mouth was agape, each breath stuttering and dragging. </p>
<p>      Vanya stepped closer, what he first thought of as an odd glint turned out to be something far more cryptic. She touched him, breaking past that barrier with which Luther could not move, as if it were nothing. She jutted her chin out, looking up at him, sizing him up. The seconds passed by at an agonizing pace, Luther felt claustrophobic, as if an immeasurably heavy weight was being gradually dug into his broad chest, settling itself. He could hardly focus. A ring had appeared within Vanya's normally muddied hazel eyes. It was a sterile, pure shade of white, as if that radius around her pupil had been bleached. But there was still someone in there, right? Luther thought the outer ring of her iris was still brown, but… everything was beginning to smear. He felt nauseous. His head was beginning to pound, but his head was all he felt like he had, with his body trapped and immobilized around him, quickly numbing. The pain of the headache was so strong and anchoring, that if there were shoulders underneath it, then in appearance only. He tried to look down to check, but found his vision spotty. Why was Vanya doing this to him? Luther wondered dumbly if he threw up, would he even be able to open his mouth enough to let the bile out?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------*´｡*ﾟ</p>
<p> </p>
<p>      When Luther woke, he didn't know where he was. Had he ever been there before? Blinking away blurred vision, he craned his vision as best as he could. Luther jumped slightly, the room coming into focus. There were spikes all around him, like drawn weapons, but they did not move. In fact, as he grew more conscious, he realized that he was up against a wall, head cradled uncomfortably between two such spikes. They had three sides, converging into a tip that was anything but dulled. He tried to wrestle free, to move away from the spikes that <em> could </em>touch him, which prodded especially in the tender gap between his shoulder blades. It didn't do any good, in fact he heard a tearing noise as the sharp sensation got a layer closer to his skin. Blood ran down his temple, and it took him a moment to work out he must've cut his head open, on one of the edges where two sides of the base of the spike converged. Better than than the head of the spike anyhow. His hands were above his head. He had to work to keep his body tense, even if the last thing he wanted to do was be against the large barbs. It was an unnatural position, his head fit between two spikes but the rest of him was not that slim, he had to curl his back forward at an odd angle to not impale himself. The tips of the spikes even so, pressed against his body.</p>
<p>      His wrists, one crossed over the other, were held together by a bond he could not see --he couldn't crane his head to look-- but could feel. It was around an inch or two of a bind in thickness and suffocating, like how he guessed duct tape must feel. But unlike duct tape, it had no give, and fastened him against the wall. Just below where his wrists spread apart, was another large spike. It fit snugly there, sharp against his forearms, and Luther had to curl his large hands into fists lest they brush against the edges of the neighboring skewers. He hated having his wrists as they were, exposed in a room of danger; his gloves had been removed at some point, and the heavy sleeves had pulled down with his arms above him. His eyes looked straight ahead when a figure caught in the slightly cloudy glass. The door slid open, which was done with so much force and with such a heavy door that Luther felt the ground shake beneath him. It was Vanya. His mouth felt dry, and seeing her made him realize that he could breathe normally again. Somehow that didn't make him feel any better, though, because it didn't feel like a victory… </p>
<p>      "V-Vanya?" He ventured. "Are you… going to let me out?" Luther had a glimmer of hope, but the look on Vanya's face would declare that hope just foolishness. She shook her head, kept her distance. The lighting of the room was so eerie, bright white and shadow clashing together in all the wrong places. It made her look like a villain. He thought he saw a smile twitch on her face, but it could've been a trick of the light. </p>
<p>   "No, One. I'm not." </p>
<p>      "Wha--... it doesn't have to be like this, please, just listen? You're not a bad guy, you j--" </p>
<p>      "It seems like the only person you're trying to convince is yourself," Vanya interrupted. "But I don't care for your words any more. When I was younger, I fixated on <em> any </em> love I got from <em> any </em> of you people. I was so desperate. And you were desperate too, Luther, I knew that because I saw everything. We could've been friends! We both wanted the same thing, to live up to standards we just never could. But, you," her voice cracked, "you were embarrassed of me. Of my uselessness." A tear fell down Vanya's face, cupping the shadows of her cheek. Luther just stood there, dumbfounded, without the ability to brush it away. "And now," Vanya sniffled, "you're trying to pretend like you didn't play a part in all of this, like you're <em> innocent! </em>" Silence. Luther was too scared to talk. "I hate you, Number One, I hate you!" She screamed, her voice cracking suddenly. </p>
<p>      "Don't call me that, I don't wanna be that anymore!" Luther replied, finding his words, but his tone pleaded for much more than he could say. He didn't want to cry, especially not in front of anyone else. It didn't change the whine he heard in his own voice, deep and guttural.</p>
<p>      "It's too late, I have to go. I have a performance tonight. It's a shame you can't be there to see it yourself. The others will." She laughed bitterly. Vanya turned away, the door snapping shut behind her. </p>
<p>      "WHERE'S ALLISON?" Luther screamed after her. He didn't know if she heard her, but if she did, she made no point of letting him know. It was then that Luther wept, uncontrollably. His arms felt numb again, hung above his head for far too long, and he strained to stay twisted away from spikes, as the bindings tore at him, stretching him. His face was hot, and he thought of Allison. Would Vanya get to her? Had Vanya already? What if she was hurt? A sob broke from Luther's lips, which he wasn't ashamed of, because he was alone. Completely and utterly alone. The noise didn't echo, like it had in the foyer. It caught immediately and stopped dead in its tracks. He had no way of saving Allison, after all that he had done. Countless hours training to be better, to protect her. A countless amount of time in the car, holding her body and just trying to keep himself together while he was at it. All for nothing, all for a dark room lined with spikes, just so he couldn't even be with her whenever her time truly came. Because, Vanya wouldn't let him out, would she? Maybe that was for the better. Maybe he could be okay with that. To be let out, whether Allison was alive or not, was to admit he'd not known if Allison would be okay, and he still hadn't come to her side. He couldn't save her from the mess that Vanya herself had said he started. Everything was unravelling around him, but he felt like he'd rather die than face the shame of the outside world, whatever that would bring. </p>
<p>      And yet, why didn't he have any fight left in him? The hopelessness brought with it self-hatred, because he couldn't make himself care enough to break free from the impossible. The self-hatred circled back into more hopelessness. In a sudden irrational moment, Luther craned his head, shaking it as wildly as he could, trying to move his body as much as possible even though his wrists were a fixed point. He couldn't take plunging a spike into his back, the gore would be too much for him, but he did what he could and disguised it to himself as an escape attempt. But Luther knew what he was doing, knew the way he'd used to run during training until his lungs felt like they'd collapse, and then ran a little further. A spike tore into his pant leg, biting at his calf and stinging. His forehead collided with a nasty edge of the skewer, blood springing from his forehead. Blood began to collect at his brow bone, before missing the hollow of his eye socket, dripping straight down onto his cheek and running down his face. Was there any air in the room to begin with? Luther stared at the industrial door, covered in old scratches. It looked familiar. Luther squinted, before smiling a little. Hey. He knew that door. It had been in every corridor of the space station he'd called home for four years. Looked <em> just </em>like it. He felt alive, every inch of his skin prickling, lit up. Luther had trouble recalling that night at the club, but it felt just like how he imagined the rave had been. He understood why Klaus was an addict, the pain was so blissful in comparison.</p>
<p>      But that couldn't last forever. The room began to dull around him. In the last few moments, he felt it closing in on him, the sense of claustrophobia rushing back from when he'd been unable to move in the hall. He'd been so damned stupid, Vanya hadn't hurt him, he'd done it all on himself and there was nobody to help him. Luther's heart hammered in his chest, which it hadn't stopped doing since he'd caused the blooming feeling of pain. He'd yelled out, an incoherent mess of words, just intended to be loud. </p>
<p>      Luther stared blankly at the metal door, at the oblivion of space out beyond the window in front of him. He felt utterly alone, but this time, at least he <em> knew </em> his efforts were for nothing. Luther missed Allison, he wanted to come back home.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> "A dream is a wish your heart makes, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> When you’re fast asleep, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In dreams you lose your heartaches, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Whatever you wish for, you keep…" </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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